Invasion
by xavionite
Summary: When Danny vanishes into thin air during a ski trip to Colorado, Steve is on the next flight out to find his friend and bring him home, triggering a chain of events that no one could have predicted. A birthday fic for katbybee, beta-reader extraordinaire.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **

**2/5/2019: Happy Birthday to my awesome beta reader and dear friend, Katbybee! A few months ago, I asked her what she would want for a birthday story from me. She specified Hawaii Five-0 and Danny whump, and I have tried to deliver. **

**This is, of course, only the first chapter in a longer story. I will try to have a chapter up at least every other week, if not more frequently, but I've also got ****_Forsaken_**** to finish.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the 5-0 characters, but they somehow got inside my head and started talking, so I had to start writing. I make no money from this, I promise, and I will send them home in their full working condition when this story is done.**

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Steve frowned as he checked his email. Today was the day, right? He was supposed to meet Danny at the airport, and they were going to take Charlie out for ice cream. The little boy had really missed his dad while Danny was on a two-week vacation, skiing in Colorado. Steve had tried to spend a lot of time with Charlie, but he was at that stage in life when he really wanted time with his dad more than anyone else. Uncle Steve just couldn't cut it.

For the first week of his trip, Danny had called Charlie every day, just as he'd promised. He'd checked in with Steve a couple times, raving about the slopes and the quality of the snow. He'd been really stressed out when he left, and Steve was relieved to hear how relaxed he sounded after just a few days away from work. But then the calls had simply stopped.

Steve had tried calling him a few times, but the phone just rang till it went to voicemail. Most likely, the idiot was spending every last minute he could with Miranda before he had to go home. He'd told Steve about the woman the last time they'd spoken, the day he'd first met her. Petite, with red-gold hair and emerald eyes, she had captured Danny's attention the first time he'd seen her.

"She's gorgeous, Steve, and when our eyes locked across the room, I just knew it was meant to be. And get this... she's not only beautiful. She's brilliant. Smarter than I am, to tell you the truth, but she's not flashy about it or anything — I can just tell, listening to her talk. Seems like she knows something about everything. She's got a degree in engineering, if you can believe it."

Steve had been a little surprised — everything he'd seen at home indicated that Danny and Rachel were falling in love again. Typically, Danny wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise, and suddenly cut the call short with a "Gotta go... we've got dinner reservations." All Steve had gotten since was a daily text saying, "Having a great time. See you when I get home."

The texts were the main reason Steve had not thrown down everything and gotten on a plane to Colorado. Well, that and work. If he weren't so damned busy, he would have gone anyway, but a visiting senator's daughter had been kidnapped, they had intelligence that a Chechen terrorist was holed up in Kailua, and to top it all off, a rash of museum burglaries had demanded the team's attention. No way the governor was going to approve him taking off to find a vacationing detective who was having too much fun to make a phone call to his kid.

Now Steve was regretting that decision. Because today was the day Danny was supposed to return. Steve had been sitting here in baggage claim, watching as the people from Danny's flight flowed past him to get their luggage. Danny wasn't anywhere among them. Steve had checked his email three times, making sure he remembered the date and time correctly. Danny should at least have texted or emailed him if he changed his plans.

Finally, when the last of the stragglers from the flight had filtered in to baggage claim, grabbed their luggage, and left, with no sign of Danny, Steve made his way to the airline counter and flashed his badge. "Steve McGarrett, 5-0. I need to know about a passenger who was scheduled to be on Aloha Airlines Flight 832 originating in Denver. His name is Daniel Williams. Did he check in for that flight, or did he change his reservation?"

The agent looked up from her computer and checked his badge, then peered at the screen as she typed on her keyboard. Finally, she looked up again. "I'm sorry, Sir. I have no record of a Daniel Williams scheduled on that flight."

Steve slapped the counter in frustration. "No record?! But he forwarded me his itinerary." He pulled up the email on his phone and showed it to her. "There it is... confirmation number and everything. Can you put that information in?"

She frowned, but typed in the confirmation number. A moment later, she shook her head. "No, sorry. There is no record at all of that ticket."

With a sigh, Steve put his phone away. "Look, there has to be something you can do."

Without looking up again, she passed him a card. "You can try calling our customer service offices, Sir. I'm sorry I can't do more to help you. Have a good day."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then snapped it shut again. She was already beckoning the next person in line to take his place. And clearly, she didn't know how to get the information he needed. Someone higher up in the chain would be able to do more. He knew that ticket existed. There had to be a record of it somewhere, and he was going to find it. "Thanks for your help," he finally said. "Good day." As he stepped away from the counter, he scrutinized the card. No address, just a phone number. He slipped the card into his wallet. Jerry could get him an address. He would rather talk to someone face to face than over the phone.

_Damn... what am I going to tell Charlie? _They were due to pick the little boy up from school in half an hour. Steve strode briskly through the airport, out the door, to the spot where he'd parked his car in the lot. As he slid behind the wheel, he dialed Danny's ex. "Rachel? Yeah, hi. No, I haven't got Danny. Listen... we've got a problem."

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On the way to Charlie's school, Steve made several calls. First, to Jerry, to get the address where he could meet with an Aloha Airlines customer service rep in person. Second, to Tani, to get her to call Danny's hotel in Breckenridge and find out whether Danny had ever checked out. Third, to Junior, to arrange for him to house sit and take care of Eddie. Finally, he made sure that Lou was ready to take the lead on the cases they still had open, because Steve wasn't about to stick around here now that he knew something really was wrong.

He picked up Charlie as promised, his heart aching for the little boy as he came running out, full of excitement, to his daddy's car, only to discover that his daddy wasn't there. Steve came around the car and knelt down to Charlie's eye level. "Hey, buddy. I know you're disappointed. Your daddy had trouble getting on his flight today, but I'm going to go help him out and make sure he gets home as quick as I can. And when he does, we'll have that ice cream together, OK?"

Charlie gulped a little and rubbed his sleeve across his face to dry his tears. Then his arms went around Steve's neck. "You promise, Uncle Steve?" The level of trust this little boy placed in him to bring his Danno home humbled Steve. It meant more to him even than the governor's trust.

He hugged Charlie tight, then saw Rachel walking up from her car. "Hi, Rachel," he called.

Charlie let go of Steve's neck, then turned and ran to his mom. "Mommy! Danno didn't make it home today but Uncle Steve's gonna go get him."

"Uncle Steve is a good friend." Rachel hugged Charlie, then straightened and looked to Steve. Her quiet glance spoke a thousand words. _Find him, Steve. Please. Bring him home. Grace and Charlie still need him._ She couldn't give voice to her worry in front of her son, but she didn't need to. Steve nodded, his own gaze carrying a solemn promise that he would not rest until he had done as she asked.

He watched as, hand in hand, mother and son walked back to their car. Then he slid back behind the wheel of Danny's Chevy Camaro and headed to the Palace.

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"All right, what have you got for me?" Steve asked as he strode through the office doors. They swung shut behind him and he moved directly to the table-top computer in the middle of the room.

Tani already had the pertinent information on the screen. "Not a lot, Boss. None of the hotel staff seem to have any memory of Danny and they can't find any record of his reservation."

Steve frowned. "And you tried pinging his phone?"

She nodded. "Yes. Nothing at all. Either his battery died or he removed it."

"How about data on where he was the last time it was turned on? Is that available?"

She tapped the tabletop, bringing up a map. "The most recent data is from yesterday and shows him in the mountains near Golden, Colorado."

"Well, that's a start at least. Hopefully the phone will come online again. Set it to alert you if it does. And get Danny's picture out to the Colorado state police and all the hospitals in the Denver metro area. Now, how about the airline, Jerry? Do you have an address for me?"

"It's back at the airport. Sorry, you'll have to drive it again."

"Not a problem, because I intend to be on the next flight out." Steve stepped into his office briefly to grab the bag he kept packed and ready for emergency travel. "I'll be back when I can. Lou's taking lead on our cases. He's on the way in now." With that, he hurried out the door.

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Two hours later, Steve was boarding a flight to Denver after an unsatisfactory conversation with the airline's customer service representative. At least Julian Chambers had tried to figure out the problem, but somehow all record of Danny's ticket had been wiped out of the computer system and could not be recovered. Steve wished he had listened to his gut the first time Danny failed to call Charlie. It just wasn't like him. Danny was so proud of his kids and thoroughly committed to being their dad. He wouldn't have let any woman distract him from that.

He paid for the Wi-Fi access on the flight so that he could keep in contact with the rest of 5-0. If they heard anything, he wanted to know about it. About three hours in, his phone buzzed, and he whipped it out. Tani had messaged him. _Swedish Medical Center in Englewood has a John Doe who fits Danny's description. See Dr. Dana Phillips. _She included a phone number and an address. Steve frowned. John Doe... that meant Danny wasn't able to tell anyone who he was and he didn't have his ID on him. If it even was Danny. It could just be some guy who looked like him.

He pulled up the onscreen keyboard to write a response. _Ask them to send a photo, then forward it to me._

Her answer came seconds later. _Already asked. No dice — privacy laws. You have to go there and speak to them first._

Steve thumped a fist on the tray table, startling his seatmate. "Sorry."

The remaining four hours of the flight seemed to stretch on a lot longer than that. When the plane finally landed at DIA, Steve lurched out of his seat the instant the fasten seatbelt light turned off. He grabbed his bag and was the first one up the jetway. He hadn't checked any luggage, so he was able to go straight to the car rental desk and get his vehicle.

Normally, so he'd heard, the drive from the airport to the hospital would take about thirty minutes. Today the roads were icy and a heavy snow was falling, forcing traffic to a crawl. Steve made it in about 45 minutes. If Danny had been with him, he'd have been complaining non-stop, certain that Steve was about to get them both killed. And just now, Steve would have given anything to hear it.

He pulled in to the parking lot at Swedish Medical Center and parked the rental car, then hurried in, hardly noticing the cold. At the reception desk, he flashed his badge and asked for Dr. Phillips.

Five minutes later, the slender grey-haired doctor was escorting him upstairs to the second floor. "The patient was found unconscious in an alley about ten blocks from here. Looked as if he'd been living... well... pretty rough. He awoke briefly but didn't speak at all... at least not coherently... before he lost consciousness again. One of our volunteers gave him a shave earlier this afternoon. That's when I realized he matched the description your colleague sent."

She gestured for him to take a right at the end of the corridor and then conducted him to the third room on the left, stopping just outside the door. "If this is your friend, I will need permission from his next of kin before I can tell you anything more. I understand that you are a member of Hawaii's law enforcement, but of course, you have no jurisdiction here and I am bound by privacy laws."

"Well, I can ease your mind on that." Steve dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet for the notarized document he had brought with him. "Had a feeling this might come up. I am his next of kin, and there's your proof. Now let's see if this is my friend."

Dr. Phillips glanced at the document, then pushed the door open and allowed Steve to enter ahead of her. "Well?" she asked as she stepped in behind him.

Steve stared at the man in the bed. All the way here, he'd convinced himself it would be this easy, just stepping into the hospital and claiming his friend. But nothing was ever really that easy. The fellow on the bed really did look like Danny — so close they could almost be brothers. He shook his head and breathed out a heavy sigh. "No. It isn't Danny. I'm sorry I wasted your time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for your kind words about this new story! I know I need to keep working on ****_Forsaken, _****but ****_Invasion_**** has been in my head and I just had to get Chapter 2 written and posted! Enjoy! **

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"Don't worry, Commander." Dr. Phillips smiled at Steve and placed a hand on his arm. "You haven't wasted my time. I'm just sorry I couldn't be of more help."

Steve mustered a wan smile in response, and his gaze went back to the John Doe on the bed. He did resemble Danny but looked at least ten years older. Something about him just bugged Steve, and he couldn't figure out what it was. He shook the feeling away, filing it in the back of his mind for closer examination later. He had more important things to deal with now. He had to find Danny.

"Commander?"

Steve turned his attention back to Dr. Phillips, who had focused a puzzled gaze on him. "I know you've got privacy laws to observe, Doctor, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know before you discharge him." As he spoke, he extracted a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.

She wrinkled her forehead as she accepted the card. "Oh? Are you having second thoughts?"

Steve shook his head. "No... he's too old to be Danny. But... I just have this feeling that somehow, I'm missing something, and... well... I've learned to trust my gut."

Dr. Phillips glanced at the card, then back up at Steve. "All right, Commander. I'll let you know. I really hope you find your friend soon."

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Steve sank into the driver's seat and pounded his fists against the steering wheel. "Dammit, Danny! Where _are _you?!" He should have known better — he _did _know better. Never get so set on one lead panning out that you don't have a plan B. Now he had to figure out his plan B. And if necessary, he'd go on to C, D, and E, whatever it took. But one thing he knew for certain — there would be no plan that involved going home without Danny.

Sitting there in his rental car, a silent snowfall drifting down outside, he pulled out his cellphone and messaged Tani. _No luck at the hospital. Anything more on the cell phone?_

He knew he was grasping at straws. She would have messaged him immediately if she'd heard anything. Hell, it was two a.m. in Hawaii, and she was probably home in bed. But asking gave him something to do while he figured out his next step. Her response came less than a minute later. _Sorry, Boss. Never came on again. You'll be the first to know. _

His fingers flew over the onscreen keyboard. _Heading to Breckenridge. Going to visit the hotel. Maybe someone will recognize his photo. Get some sleep. _He set the phone down and turned the key in the ignition. He hadn't switched the radio off when he parked earlier, and when he got the engine going, he realized he'd come in on the middle of a weather report.

"—Negative three with the wind chill factor," the announcer droned. "The projected high for today is 20 degrees. Snow will continue throughout the day, with blizzard conditions expected mid-morning. Look for at least two feet out of this storm system in the Denver metro area, with up to four feet at higher altitudes. This is no morning to be on the roads, folks. Go back to bed and stay warm. Sorry to disappoint all you skiers, but I-70 is closed from Georgetown to the western border of the state. Stay tuned for a list of school closures —"

Steve flicked off the radio with a growl of frustration. "Figures." He cranked up the heater. The windshield was coated with heavy wet snow, with a thin sheet of ice underneath it, and even with the heat from the defroster, the wipers just couldn't move it. "Note to self," Steve muttered as he reached for the scraper - brush combo in the passenger seat floorboard. "Include some winter clothes in my go bag." He needed to get himself a decent coat.

He stepped out into the snow again and made quick work of brushing away the accumulated snow and then scraping the ice. The cold air cut sharply through his light cotton shirt. Shivering, he got back in the driver's seat, buckled up, and backed out of his parking spot. His eyes fell briefly on the digital clock in the dashboard. Five a.m. He should probably see about getting a hotel room, if he could find one that would check him in at this hour, and crash for a while. He wouldn't do Danny any good if he ended up in a ditch because he dozed off and lost control on slick roads.

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_Instructions pounded in his head. "Shoot the security guard. Three shots. Center mass." He wasn't exactly sure where the voice was coming from or who it belonged to, but he heard it plain as day. A sultry voice... alluring... wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Suffocating him. He hated it, and yet somehow, he craved its praise. But to obey this instruction? Well, it went against everything he stood for. _

_The convenience store was a soft target — only one guard. Bad lighting. And he had already disabled the alarm system. He knew the job would be easy, if he could just get past this first obstacle. He hid in the shadows, watching the guard as he made rounds. A shiver passed through his entire body. This was all wrong, but thinking about it made his head ache. Well, actually, his head ached and buzzed all the time, and it got worse when he resisted doing as he was told. Then his thoughts got disjointed and his legs got weak and wouldn't hold him up and the buzzing got louder. He hated the buzzing. High pitched, it echoed inside his brain and never stopped. At first he'd thought it was something with the lights, but eventually he'd realized it was inside him, and it was driving him insane. _

_He tried not to think about the instructions, tried to think only of doing exactly as he was told, disconnecting his thoughts from his actions. He stepped out from his hiding place, weapon raised, but aimed slightly at the guard's gun hand instead of his chest. He would get out of this alive and with the money he was sent to steal, but without a life on his conscience. He frowned as the buzzing started and tried to shake the vague thoughts from his mind. _

_The instruction repeated, exploding in his brain. "Shoot the security guard. Three shots. Center mass." The buzzing rose in pitch and volume, screaming through his head. He adjusted his aim only slightly. Pulled the trigger. Sighed in relief as the guard dropped his gun and fell, clutching a bleeding hand to his chest._

_The darkness around him faded into the bright glare of his prison. The image of the convenience store and the injured guard disappeared. He stared in confusion and tried to look around, but then realized he was strapped in a chair, a strange device locking his head in place. The scene they'd fed him had seemed real, but now the details were rapidly fading from his mind and he couldn't grasp them quick enough to hold them in his memory._

_"__Test Two, failed." The sultry voice was gone now, replaced by the clinical, scientific voice. The one that grated on his nerves._

_Test? What did that mean anyway? And when would the squealing in his head stop? He couldn't quite remember where it started or when, but he felt as if his head were about to explode. _

_He shut his eyes, squeezing them tight in an attempt to shut out the glaring light. He craved the darkness, craved peace, craved quiet. Suddenly, he became briefly aware of a sensation of cold in his right arm, spreading through him. And then his awareness faded completely._

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After a quick stop at a 24-hour big box store to purchase some winter-appropriate clothing, Steve found a small hotel on Hampden Avenue that had an available room and could check him in at six a.m. It was a cheap place — a bit of a dive, really, but reasonably clean and good enough for his needs. He didn't set an alarm. Ten a.m. here would be seven in Honolulu, and he knew his internal clock wouldn't let him sleep much past that, even if he only got a few hours sleep. After hanging the do-not-disturb sign on the outside doorknob, he sacked out on the bed and slipped into a restless sleep.

When he awoke, it was daylight, though the sky was a pale grey. He'd heard the saying that Colorado had more sunny days than San Diego or Miami Beach, but if that was true, today sure wasn't one of them. It was only spitting snow at the moment, but the dark clouds over the mountains held the ominous threat of something more. He flipped on the television, then cycled through the channels until he found a local weather report. Nothing had changed since early that morning — I-70 was still closed and he had no way to get to Breckenridge. He watched on the video feed as the news reporter explained that the National Guard had dispatched Humvees along both I-25 south to Colorado Springs and west along I-70 to look for and rescue stranded motorists.

"I need to get on one of those Humvees," he murmured, and then he smiled faintly. "And I know just the man to make it happen." He plucked his cell phone off the dresser and dialed a number from memory.

Steve had met Colonel Dean Barlow when they had served together on a joint op in Somalia. The two men had become good friends on that mission. They teased each other mercilessly, but when things got serious, Steve had saved Dean's life. When they got home, Dean gave him his personal phone number. "I owe you one, Steve. You ever need anything, you call me, day or night, got it?" They hadn't seen each other since, but they kept in touch. Barlow now served in a command position in the Colorado Army National Guard. If anyone could get Steve on a Humvee headed toward Breckenridge, he could.

After the phone rang a few times, Steve heard a deep, guttural voice on the other end. "About time I heard from you again, Squid. You callin' to gloat about that Hawaiian sunshine while we're up to our asses in snow?"

Steve chuckled. "I'm shivering in your neck of the woods, Colonel Dogface, and I'm calling in that favor you owe me." He explained the situation and his needs, and within a few minutes the two had hashed out a plan. It was easy enough for a Humvee crew out of Buckley Air Force Base to take a slight detour and pick Steve up near the hotel. Steve washed and dressed and was out the door within ten minutes, headed for the rendezvous point.

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Danny awoke with a start and sat up in bed, his shoulders heaving as he sucked in air. Gentle fingers twined themselves about his arm and a soft voice spoke next to his ear. "Are you all right, love?"

He jammed the palms of his hands against his temples, unable to answer just yet. He needed to orient himself, figure out where he was. And he needed that damned buzzing in his head to stop. He glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the details as he grounded himself. The wood-burning fireplace on the far wall... daylight streaming in through the skylight... snow on pine branches outside the window. "Colorado," he breathed out. Still pressed firmly against his head, his hands traveled down to the back of his neck. "Ski trip."

"You're worrying me, Danny." The sultry voice indulged in a nervous laugh and the fingers pushed their way into the crook of his elbow and tugged one hand away from his head.

Rachel? No... the accent was wrong, more of a brogue than Rachel's proper, crisp English. He turned to look at her, his thoughts casting wildly about for her name. "M... Miranda?" He regretted the uncertainty of his tone as soon as he saw her lower lip jut out in a pout. Damn, she was beautiful. Why did that warm emerald gaze send such a chill through his heart? "Miranda," he said, more certain now. "I... I'm fine. Just a nightmare, that's all. What are you —"

She didn't give him a chance to finish. "That dream again?" The pout smoothed itself into a worried smile, and she began to massage his neck. Her touch was magic. He pivoted slightly to give her a better angle. Her fists worked their way from down the back, seeking out all the knots and gradually smoothing them away.

He gasped and jerked away instinctively when he felt her lips against his skin. Something was wrong about this... all wrong. He squirmed away from her touch. "Miranda, please... I... I can't." He couldn't remember coming to bed with her... he knew he hadn't invited her in. He wasn't even sure when or where he'd met her.

"Lie back, my love," she soothed, her brogue forcing its way into his thoughts. "Rest. You've been very sick... a high fever... seizures... the doctor said you might not remember."

He eased back against the pillows and stared at her. "Remember what?"

Her fingers stroked his cheek and then she turned to grab something from the bedside table next to her. She held it out to him. A wedding photo. She was dressed in a flowing white gown and clutching a bouquet; he wore a tux. He noticed the ring on her finger and glanced down to see a matching one on his own.

"We're... we're married?" His brow furrowed and he sought his memory for the event. It just didn't feel right, didn't fit. He didn't love her... did he? The more he tried to puzzle it out, the more his head buzzed.

She caressed his cheek again and gave him an indulgent smile. "Two weeks ago. We came to Colorado on our honeymoon, but you got sick right after we arrived. Really, you should have gone to the hospital, but we were snowed in. Thankfully, there was a doctor nearby who was willing to come here to see you. He's been taking care of you ever since."

It still didn't sound right to him, but somehow the closer he listened to her voice, the less his head buzzed. That was good enough reason to pay attention to every word she spoke. "Keep talking," he murmured as his eyelids sank shut. "Th' wedding," he slurred out. "Tell me 'bout it."

She did as he asked, and he allowed the stream of her words to carry him into a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait for this update! Over the last several months, my life has been very busy, including getting our old house ready to go on the market, keeping it clean for the flurry of showings before we sold it, the move to our new house, and some traveling. Things are settling down now, thankfully, and even though we still have lots of boxes to unpack, I am getting back to my writing. **

**Thank you to my beta reader, katbybee, who inspired this story when she requested Danny whump for her birthday fic. It's well past your birthday, Kat, but I figure you don't mind dragging out the celebration for a while. **

**To all my readers, especially those who have reviewed, I thank you! I hope you will continue to enjoy this tale!**

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**Glossary (Irish-Gaelic - English) **

Mo stór - My treasure

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Moira Keenan huffed in frustration as she sat at her computer, watching Danny Williams on the monitor. With a tap of a key, she could view him from any angle. Clothed only in a simple hospital gown, he lay strapped into a reclining chair that looked like something out of a dentist's office - well, except for the heavy-duty restraints that secured his arms and legs to the chair and the cranial device that had been fixed in place on his head. He'd had only a few moments of consciousness since Michael and Seamus had brought him to the lab, fresh from the airport. His two-week vacation had been perfectly timed, but now they were behind schedule and he wasn't close to ready to be sent home. Why wouldn't the program she'd written work the way it was supposed to?!

She read over the latest memories she'd programmed for him and prepared to revise them. Seamus had not been thrilled that she'd included a marriage. He was a possessive sort and had agreed to his wife's participation in this project only grudgingly. Moira enjoyed the fact that she had the power to arouse such jealousy. She also liked to dream a little. She loved Seamus, but he was no Danny Williams. Moira smiled slightly as her gaze fell on the detective and she wondered what exactly it was about him that attracted her. He was handsome enough, she supposed (though, to be honest, she knew many better-looking men), and there really was something special about the way he smiled in those rare moments when a stray thought of Rachel crept past the memory blocks Moira had set in place. Moira frowned. The fake memories she'd programmed of herself had not yet managed to elicit such a smile, but she still had hope.

Danny Williams' appeal went deeper than appearance or smiles, though. Over the last two weeks, Moira had become intimately acquainted with the detective, not in a physical sense of course, but through the window she'd created into his mind. She thought the allure came, in part, from the intense challenge involved in breaking him. Daniel Williams lived by a strict moral code, and Moira knew without a doubt that he would find her and everything she stood for abhorrent. To bring him to a point that he would be willing not only to die, but to kill for her - well, that was a delicious prospect right there. But she could not deny that his antiquated standards - the love for his family, the loyalty he gave to his friends, the willingness to risk his own life for what he believed was right - appealed to her. Oh, Seamus was certainly loyal to a point, but he could be bought, and he was more than happy to step on the heads of his so-called brothers to make his own way to the top. It certainly wouldn't require technological intervention to get him to betray those who were closest to him.

"I'll try to leave a little of the old you intact, Detective," she said softly as she glanced around to reassure herself that no one was around to overhear her. "And maybe when Seamus meets his inevitable end, you and I will run away together to a nice private island of our own. If you're not rotting in prison by then, that is." His purpose, after all, had to be her priority, above her own pleasure. Danny Williams was the key to destroying Hawaii Five-0 from the inside out, if she could just get the damned program to work.

With a few keystrokes, she wiped out the recently implanted memory she had given him of waking up to find her next to him in bed. All of it - the wedding photo, the rings, the snowbound cabin - would be replaced with a scene at a ski chalet in Aspen. From his seat at a bar, Detective Williams turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Miranda Cleary as she breezed past, stopping only long enough to cast a demure smile in his direction. Moira backspaced. Instead of a demure smile, Miranda winked at the detective and blew him a kiss, then moved on without a backward look. And Williams... well, he just dropped his jaw and stared after her.

"You belong to me now, Detective Williams," Moira murmured, her eyes glowing with anticipation. "And I look forward to every minute we will have together."

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Jerry stared at the computer screen, watching the security footage from the airport for the hundredth time. "You know what they say about insanity, don't you, Jerry?" he muttered. "It's doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result." He shook his head and went back to the segment time-stamped 6:00 a.m., February 10, when Steve had dropped Danny at the airport. "It's a dumb saying anyway. Maybe if I keep watching, I'll see something I missed."

The footage outside the airport clearly showed Danny's car. Danny got out... grabbed his bags... waved goodbye... and went inside. But when Jerry pulled up the next camera, Danny was nowhere to be seen. He froze the image and leaned forward to examine it carefully. A moment later, he straightened up. "Of course! Why didn't I notice that earlier?!"

"You got something, Jerry?"

Jerry jumped, startled to find Lou Grover standing right behind him. "Uh... yes, Captain, I think I do." He indicated a spot at the left edge of the monitor screen. "Do you see that clock there at the edge of the screen? It says 9:35."

"Yeah... and?"

"Look at the time stamp! It says 6:05. Someone has tampered with the footage. I can't believe it took me this long to catch it!"

Lou frowned. "It's a glitch? The clock is wrong?"

"All the clocks?" Jerry moved to another camera and advanced the footage. "See... this one says 9:37, but the timestamp reads 6:07. And..." He adjusted the footage ahead a few more minutes and chose yet another camera. "Same thing here."

"And Danny's flight was at 8:30, right?" Grover frowned. "Whatever happened to him, it had to have been here in Honolulu, or else someone went to a lot of trouble deleting that footage for nothing. Can you get the original footage back?"

"That's what I'm working on." Jerry's fingers flew over the keyboard for several minutes. He thought maybe he had it, but suddenly, the image disappeared altogether. "What the..." He banged on the keys, but nothing worked. "I'm sorry, Captain. It's just... gone. Completely. The whole day of footage, wiped out!"

Grover gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Keep trying, Jerry. Surely the airport has backup they'll let you see. And check the footage from Denver, too. I'd better contact the Commander with this information. Maybe he's looking in the wrong place."

"But Danny called him from Colorado. Talked to him all about skiing and everything... how he met some girl."

Lou shook his head. "I don't know... something about that sounded fishy, if you ask me. We all know how crazy Danny is about Rachel."

Jerry's eyes widened. "Maybe it's.."

"Oh no you don't, Jerry! I don't want to hear any of your conspiracy theories! Contact the airports and see what you can do about that footage. I'm going to call Steve."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Steve, meanwhile, was sitting in a Humvee in blizzard conditions, heading west on I-70. They were making slow progress, stopping every so often to dig out stranded vehicles and get the people inside them to safety, but at least they were making progress. Steve's anxiety for Danny mounted with each delay, but it couldn't be helped so he simply threw himself into working beside Barlow and his men.

When the Humvee had pulled up to the rendezvous point that morning, Colonel Dogface himself had opened the door and invited Steve to jump in. "I decided it might be fun to watch a squid floundering in the snow" he'd said with a jaunty grin. "Hope you don't mind providing the day's entertainment." Steve had just rolled his eyes, but he was glad to have Barlow along.

He glanced at the phone when it rang and saw Grover's name flash on the screen, but when he answered he got static and then dead air. He scowled, but resisted the urge to hurl the device across the Humvee.

"Weather like this sure wreaks havoc with a cell signal," Barlow observed.

Steve sighed and shook his head. "It's a sat phone. Supposed to work in extreme weather - not sure what the problem is." He fired off a text to Lou, then groaned when it didn't seem to go through. Technology was great until it didn't work. After a few more fruitless attempts, he slipped the phone into his pocket, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

"Don't get too comfy, Squid." Barlow elbowed him in the side and then pointed out the window. "Looks like we've got more digging to do."

Steve peered out to see a car-shaped mound of snow off to the side of the highway. He pulled on his gloves and hat, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and then prepared to jump down from the vehicle as soon as it was stopped.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Lou shook his head in frustration as he pocketed his cell phone. "Call isn't going through. Damn phone… Can't even get a text to send." His brow furrowed, he glanced at Jerry. "Take a break from that for a minute and see if you can send something."

Jerry pushed his office chair back from the computer, swiveling as he did so to reach for his phone, which he had left on a nearby cluttered table. Lou watched his fingers fly across the screen.

A moment later, he lowered his device. Lou scrutinized him carefully. "Well, from that little lost boy look on your face, I take it you didn't do any better than I did."

Jerry shook his head. "Can't get a call or text out to anyone. You know, this could really be-"

Lou raised a hand. "Stop right there. No conspiracy theories! Just get the damn phones working so we can communicate with Steve. Then get back to looking for that footage."

Jerry looked hurt… deflated, almost. But he raised two fingers to his forehead in a quick salute. "I'll do my best, Captain."

Lou felt a pang of guilt. He had little patience with Jerry's unending stream of theories, but he shouldn't have snapped at him. For all his quirks, he was an invaluable member of the team. Lou softened his tone and clapped a hand to the younger man's back. "Sorry, Jerry. I know you will. You always do."

A couple minutes later, Jerry sat back and pointed at the computer screen. "There it is - the satellite blackout was triggered at the very moment I started really digging through the security footage. Could just be a coincidence, but I think someone is trying to keep us from finding Danny, and they've got access to some real kick-ass technology..."

Lou frowned. "But you know how to get around it, right?"

With a heavy sigh, Jerry shook his head. "I'm not sure. I'll keep try-" Suddenly his face lit up and his fingers started flying over the keyboard again. "I might be able to isolate the source of the blackout. If I can, it would be worth checking out."

He leaned in close to the monitor and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the screen. Lou just watched the flurry of movement as his fingers tapped away, sometimes on the keyboard, sometimes on the touch screen. Finally the movement slowed and Jerry leaned back, a grin slowly creeping across his face. "Got it. Take a look."

Lou grimaced as he bent over to peer at the computer screen. "Now come on, Jerry. You know I can't make heads or tails of what I'm looking at."

"Captain, you're looking at proof positive that Steve is never going to find Danny in Colorado. We need to get hold of him right away!"

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Seamus peeked into Moira's control room, but he didn't actually cross the threshold. He knew better. The control room was Moira's domain, and no one went in there until she said, "Enter."

She kept one eye on her husband as she minimized the files she'd been preparing to upload to the detective's brain. It was fun to torment Seamus, but she didn't want to make him too angry. He might kill Danny before they could make their intended use of him. "All right, Seamus. You may enter," she finally said. "I'm giving him a short rest period. I don't want to fry the control circuits, after all."

"Have you had a successful test run yet?" Seamus growled.

"I'm very close." Moira kept her tone breezy. She wouldn't be caught dead admitting that every test she'd run had been a complete failure. "I'm preparing a new test now - I think he's ready."

"He'd better be. Sullivan wants him back at the Palace day after tomorrow, programmed and ready to start his assignment." Seamus moved up close behind her and began massaging her back, then dropped his lips to her neck.

Moira squirmed, but could not get free of his strong grip. "Not now, Seamus," she snapped once she realized he was not going to take her hint. _Goodness, but the man is oblivious! _"I'm still on duty, and so are you."

"Fine," he breathed out right against her ear before backing off a bit.

Moira didn't crane her neck to look at him, but she could feel that he was still in her personal space. She kept her back straight, her muscles taut, silently willing him to behave. "Sullivan is asking too much. If we send him back before he's ready, the whole project is liable to blow up in our faces."

"Then get him ready, **mo stór.**" Seamus's brogue thickened. "Because he's goin' back day after tomorrow, an' we're goin' with 'im."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I apologize to my readers for the very long wait for an update! I hope to pick up the pace now that the characters are talking to me again! Thank you to all who have followed, favorited, and/or reviewed! I love hearing from you! Special thanks go to my dear beta reader, katbybee, though Danny is not particularly pleased with her at the moment — after all, she's the one who requested "Danny whump" for her birthday back when this whole story got started! Love you, Kat!**

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"It's too soon, Seamus!" Moira watched through the control room window as Michael unfastened the straps that secured the subject in his chair. "We haven't had a successful Level 1 test yet! He's not ready for Level 2!"

"Make it work!" Seamus snapped.

Her husband didn't usually raise his voice with her, but when he did, Moira knew not to argue. "Fine," she said flatly, and she returned to her keyboard. A full Level 2 test required her to restore the subject to full consciousness, but she would not go that far this time regardless of what Sullivan wanted. She would keep him in a bit of a fog unless absolutely necessary to get the results she needed.

As soon as Michael had disconnected the cranial device, he backed out of the room to find a hiding place. "A'right," Seamus ordered. "Wake 'im up, now!"

Moira shrugged. At least this lower deck was secure. There was no way the subject could get out of the lab complex or into the control room. But even with the control she could exert over him, she knew he was unpredictable, and she might not be able to shut him down before he could do some real damage. "As you wish. It's Michael's funeral."

"Not if ye've programmed 'im the way ye were told," Seamus growled. "Now do it, Woman!"

Moira rolled her eyes, but she started the process of waking the subject. The small neuroseed she had planted in his brain stem a couple weeks before had by now stretched out roots into each lobe of his brain, enabling her to control most of his functions through her computer. At this point, she had not yet managed to wipe out any of his actual memories, but she could blur them a bit, and she could introduce false memories, manipulate how he saw and interpreted things, give instructions, and provide physical motivation for obedience. As more roots continued to burst from the seed, they would entwine themselves inextricably with the organism and her control would be complete and irreversible, but Sullivan was not willing to wait for that to happen. At this point, her biggest struggle rested in her inability to tap into and manipulate the subject's moral code. She had not anticipated so much difficulty, but something in his subconscious was fighting hard against this change.

She stared at the screen, watching as the image of his waking brain began to light up with activity. She switched on the seed's voice control, then picked up the headset beside the computer and put it on. "Stand up, Detective, and turn to your right." He remained reclined in the chair, his stubborn gaze fastened on the ceiling, so she initiated a high-pitched buzz in his ears. "Stand up," she repeated, her tone smooth as silk. "It is a simple task and harms no one. The noise will diminish when you obey."

At last he sat upright, and the movement of his body caused the leg rest to retract so that he could easily stand. Moira smiled and, in her most dulcet tones, she crooned into the microphone, "Well done, Detective. Your obedience has earned you a reward." With the punch of a button, she removed the buzz and sent a burst of pleasure through him. She watched as relief spread across his face, then faded, and then she gave him a moment to observe his surroundings before setting the test in motion.

When she felt he was ready, she continued. "Your weapon is lying on the counter to your right. It is loaded. Take it. Then you will kill this man." She pulled up a photo of Michael and uploaded the image to his mind. "Blink twice if you understand." Of course, the weapon was not actually a working model, but he would see his own Heckler and Koch P30 with rounds in the chamber.

One blink… a brief pause… then a second. He heard and understood the instructions. Now it only remained to see what he would do with them. Moira switched the display on the computer screen to show the subject's perspective, then settled into her seat to see whether he would pass the test.

**•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•**

Danny shivered and pushed a hand through his hair as he analyzed his situation. For the first time in — well… he wasn't sure how long — he knew he was really awake. His memories were foggy, though, and the act of thinking made him feel like he was slogging through thick mud in a pair of flip flops. He had no clue where he was or how he had gotten here. And he sure as hell didn't know who that voice he kept hearing belonged to. It seemed like the words spoken weren't so much heard as they were forming inside his brain, even though he knew they didn't come from him. A hand to each ear confirmed he wasn't wearing any sort of receiver, and nothing he saw in this room explained it. He was in a brightly lit, enclosed space that looked like a laboratory, standing next to a reclining chair that resembled the sort of thing you'd see in a dentist's office, but with the addition of heavy-duty leather straps and a space-age helmet sort of device. Had he just been sitting in that chair, wearing that thing?

Yeah… he guessed he had, because the voice had told him to stand up, and when he had resisted the instruction, his head started buzzing like a whole nest of hornets was loose inside it. But when he obeyed, that had eased off and, for just an instant, he had felt a rush of pleasure.

The voice spoke again, directing him to his pistol and instructing him to kill a man whose distinct image then filled his mind — a scruffy fellow with jet black curls, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. He glanced to his right, where he saw his familiar H&K P30 on the counter. He reached to pick it up, savoring the feel of it in his hand. But he couldn't do what the voice demanded, could he? Certainly not without understanding why. Even when going after the worst criminals, he preferred to avoid killing whenever possible. He turned in a circle, looking for someone who could clarify the matter, but again he saw no one.

The hornets started buzzing again, and he tried clearing his mind with a fierce shake of his head, but it did no good. Curling his hands into fists, he dug his knuckles into his forehead. "I won't!" he forced out between clenched teeth. "Not… gonna… kill him. Don't care… what you —" His voice failed him mid-sentence. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get another sound out.

"Detective," came the sultry tones, and he could hear the speaker's disappointment. He struggled to block her out, but her voice overwhelmed everything else. "You do not understand. This is not a request. Obedience is rewarded. Disobedience is punished."

The buzzing intensified, and then those hornets in his brain started stinging him. Overwhelmed by excruciating pain, he grabbed his head and dropped to his knees. _Please, _he begged, though the words remained only in his thoughts. _Make it stop!_

"Only you can make it stop, Detective. But perhaps you need a little motivation."

_What? She can hear my thoughts? That isn't possible... is it?_

"Yes, I know everything you are thinking. Now, pay close attention."

The buzzing and pain eased off again and a series of images began running through Danny's mind, as if he were watching them on a movie screen. In those images, he saw Rachel walking Charlie home from school. The man with the dark curls was stalking them. Gradually, his surroundings faded, and Danny felt as if he were there with them. A sense of urgency filled him because he knew this jerk was up to no good. He needed to save his family!

And so, when he finally went after the scumbag, his laboratory prison was forgotten. He was striding through the park behind Rachel's house, past the playground where Charlie loved to dangle from the monkey bars. A bunch of kids were playing there, but Rachel and Charlie walked on past. Danny could smell the saltwater on the breeze… could feel the heat of the sun on his neck… hear the kids shouting. But he kept his whole focus on his target. He rested a hand on his pistol, which was ready in its holster. The words echoed in his mind. _You_ _must kill him before he harms them. _Up ahead, he saw Rachel turning suddenly as if she noticed something. He tried calling to her but for some reason he couldn't get any words out. He waved and started running toward her, but she didn't acknowledge him. Her face contorted in terror. Scumbag was lurching toward her. He had Charlie by the arm! Danny pulled out his gun, but he didn't fire — he couldn't risk hitting Rachel or Charlie! Instead, he lunged forward just as Scumbag pulled out a knife. Danny tackled the guy and managed to knock the blade to the ground just before everything went dark.

**•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•**

Once again, Lou Grover stood watching the computer screen over Jerry's shoulder. "So tell me what I'm seeing here. It's a map, I know that much." The Hawaiian Islands were stretched out smack dab in the middle of the screen, with the west coast of the United States to the upper right and just a smidgeon of Papua New Guinea visible to the lower left. About halfway between Hawaii and Papua New Guinea was a blinking red triangle, surrounded by the blue that represented the Pacific Ocean.

"I managed to isolate the signal from Danny's last call," Jerry explained. "That would be one week ago. It was bounced off several satellites to make it seem as if it originated in Colorado, but it actually came from somewhere around here." He traced a circle with his fingers around the red triangle. "Could have been anywhere within… oh… about a fifty-mile radius."

Lou's forehead wrinkled as he considered the information. "But we talked to him! Steve put the call on speaker phone and Danny told us all about the skiing. And he wasn't talkin' about water skiing!"

Jerry pressed a few keys and peered at the screen. "I can't explain that, but there's no question — when he last used his phone, he was somewhere in this part of the Pacific." He pointed to several new triangles that had appeared in a line on the screen, clearly heading southwest. "These are the locations of his calls to Charlie and his other call to Steve. Makes me think he must have been on a ship of some sort."

Lou gave a slow nod and clapped Jerry on the back. "Makes sense. So, we could narrow it down by looking at the trading routes within the fifty-mile radius of those points." He pulled out his phone. "Any luck with that satellite out —" Before he could finish, the device began to chime as several texts from Steve arrived all at once. "OK, I guess that answers that question. I'll call Steve now."

A moment later, his call went through. "You need to get your butt home ASAP, Steve. You're looking in the wrong place — Danny never made it to Colorado!"

**•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•**

Steve glowered as he stared out the window of the Humvee at a thick curtain of falling snow. They'd been stopped on the side of the road for about forty-five minutes, grounded until visibility improved, and it didn't matter how much of a hurry Steve was now in to get back down to Denver and on a flight home, they weren't going anywhere for a while.

"Unless weather conditions are much improved in Denver, DIA is shut down tight today, Squid," Barlow observed, as if that might be a comfort to him. It wasn't. "Nothing going in or out on a day like this."

"Then I'll rent a car," Steve said, refusing to give up. "The highway wasn't closed going south. There's an airport in Colorado Springs, isn't there? Maybe they have better weather. If not, I'll drive south and west till I get out of this storm system and can get on a flight."

"Hell no!" Barlow exclaimed.

Steve glared at him. "Colonel, my friend is missing. It could be a matter of life and death. I don't have a choice."

"Of course you do. But I don't. No way I'm lettin' a squid who's used to basking in the sunshine go driving in these conditions! Besides, you probably won't be able to get a rental car before this lets up. But I'm on leave starting tomorrow morning and my trusty old Jeep and I are at your disposal." His eyes flashed in the dim light of the Humvee. "I can't think of a better way to spend my leave than on a trip to Hawaii and a chance to bail you out again!"

"But what about Kate?" Steve had never met Barlow's wife, but he was well aware that she thought her husband worked too much and that she'd been pestering him to go on vacation with her.

"What about her?" Barlow grunted. "She moved out four months ago… living down in Dallas with her sister last I heard." He shrugged up a shoulder and rolled his eyes as if he were trying to make light of it, but Steve hadn't missed the slight hitch in his voice.

"Sorry to hear that, Colonel," he said, and he clapped a hand on Barlow's shoulder. "Thanks, man. I'd sure be grateful to have you along."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: SteveMcGarrettLover,** **I know it's not December anymore, and I wasn't able to take on writing a whole new fanfic just now, but this chapter is for you. I hope you had a happy birthday! **

**To all my readers, thank you for your kind reviews and for sticking with me even when I get sidetracked by other writing projects (like working on a novel with my wonderful hubby!). You are all awesome! Special thanks to my beta reader, katbybee, for all her help! When I'm dealing with writer's block, I can always count on kat to help me get the ideas flowing again. Finally, thanks to my son Daniel for explaining to me the difference between triangulation and trilateration. I had no idea!**

**I'm sorry there's nothing from Danny tonight. I promise to focus on him in the next chapter.**

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As the Humvee carried him east along I-70, Steve made a few phone calls. With a bit of wheedling, he managed to arrange for the Hertz rep to pick up his rental vehicle at the hotel the following day and process the return for him without additional charge. Barlow, who Steve now remembered was able to sack out pretty much anywhere regardless of the conditions, slept through most of the trip so that he would be ready for a long drive. He had promised Steve they'd get back to Denver, climb in the Jeep, and go, making a quick stop at Steve's hotel so he could check out and leave the car key at the desk.

"Can you really just take off like that?" Steve had asked. "Don't you need to pack? And what about Rambo?" He'd heard plenty of stories about the neurotic bulldog that ruled the Barlow roost.

When Dean didn't answer right away, Steve regretted the second question. The colonel just stared out the window for a moment before speaking. "As for packing, I keep a go-bag in the Jeep. And Rambo… well… he went with Kate. Better that way, I guess… I'm not really home enough to keep him happy."

Steve nodded his sympathy but didn't say anything more. That's when Barlow closed his eyes. Within a minute, his chin had dropped to his chest and he was sawing logs.

The Humvee disgorged its weary passengers a little before midnight in the parking lot of the Colorado Army National Guard Headquarters in Centennial. Barlow pointed Steve to a Jeep-shaped mound of snow in a reserved spot close to the main building. Using his glove, he brushed off enough snow to open the driver's side door, threw Steve's bag in the back, then grabbed a couple of snow brushes, one of which he handed to Steve. The two men set to work clearing away the snow, gradually revealing an old white Jeep with a black soft-top. Barlow tossed Steve his keys. "Hop in the driver's seat and start her up, let her idle with the defroster going." Though Steve was skeptical that this ancient Jeep would get them more than a block, he climbed in and did as Barlow asked. He checked the parking brake and made sure it was in neutral before turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. With an assist from the defroster, Barlow cleared ice from the windshield with the scraper affixed to the end of the snow brush. Then he opened the driver side door and stepped back. "All right, Squid. Move it."

"Ah, c'mon, Dogface! I can handle a little bit of snow. Go around and get in."

Barlow crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, glaring, as he prevented Steve from closing the door. Steve gripped the steering wheel as he considered his response. He never would have let Danny win a contest like this. But he knew Barlow would never cave the way Danny did. Danny might complain the whole time he sat in the passenger seat of his own car, but he wouldn't actually fight Steve for the keys. Barlow would. Steve was reasonably certain he could take his Army buddy in a fight, but he wasn't willing to test the matter now, when such a test would only lead to more delays in getting to Danny. Steve raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'm moving." He stepped down to the ground and walked around the Jeep to get in on the passenger's side.

He sat there, glowering, the entire way from Denver to Colorado Springs, a trip that should have taken only an hour and a half in decent weather. With the blizzard, it stretched into four excruciatingly slow hours. Ignoring Barlow's attempts to make small talk, he just stared out the window, his neck and shoulder muscles tight with frustration and anxious tension. When they reached Colorado Springs around 4:30 in the morning, they found that the airport was socked in, same as Denver. Nothing in or out, thanks to the blizzard that had settled in and seemed intent on overstaying its welcome. Visibility was poor and I-25 was slick, but at least it was open. Steve hoped it would stay that way. According to the weather report, the strength of the storm would lessen as they continued south, and by the time they could get to Pueblo, conditions should improve. Barlow said Pueblo was normally a 45-minute drive. It took them two hours, but for once, thankfully, the meteorologists had it right. By the time they reached Pueblo, there was only a light dusting of snow. Steve had searched flights from Pueblo Memorial Airport on his phone, but every flight he found had a layover in Denver, which meant they had no hope of flying out of there anytime soon.

"It's on to Albuquerque, then," Barlow said as he pulled off the highway and into a Love's Travel Stop. "The roads aren't too bad now." His mouth twisted in a yawn. "I sure could use some shuteye, though. Let me snooze for an hour here, then get some coffee, and I'll be good to keep driving."

"Just let me drive," Steve argued. "No need to waste time, and you can get a real nap. The roads aren't so slick and I'm wide awake." He stifled a yawn and hoped Barlow didn't notice. He had tried sleeping in the Humvee earlier in the day, and then later on the drive down from Denver, but had been unsuccessful, so he was wiped out. But if he couldn't manage to sleep in the passenger seat, he didn't figure he was in any danger of nodding off at the wheel. And he sure didn't want an hour's delay for Barlow to take a nap!

A frown wrinkled Barlow's brow and darkened his eyes. "Squid, maybe you don't remember Somalia as well as I do. I know you drive like a madman. There's no way you're getting behind this wheel!"

Steve wasn't usually one to play the hero card, but right now all he could think of was Danny. He had a terrible feeling that the man he considered as much his brother as if they'd been born to it, needed him, ASAP. "C'mon, Dean." The teasing tone he usually used with the Colonel was gone, sharpened by Steve's frustration. "I remember Somalia just fine, and the way I see it, it was my driving that got you out alive. Besides, what do you think I'm going to do to this old rust bucket?!"

He regretted the words while they still hung in the air. The deep hurt he saw in Barlow's eyes reminded him of the time after his liver transplant when he and Danny were still in the hospital. _I promise you, Danny. You give him time, he's gonna grow up to hate you as much as I do. _A stupid thing to say, he knew. He'd been tired and in pain and on meds that did weird things to his head and just wanted Danny's rant about gratitude to stop, but that was no excuse. He knew full well that his comment about Charlie had deeply wounded his best friend. They'd never spoken of it after the fact, but Steve regretted his words to this day. He wasn't sure why his remark about the Jeep had hurt Dean so much, but it clearly did. Steve sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry. It was a dumb thing to say. It's a great vehicle… I mean, it has to be to get us through that blizzard the way it did. It's just… I'm worried we've already been delayed enough. I need to get on a flight home as soon as I can. Based on the forecast, it could be a couple days before DIA opens again, but we could be in Albuquerque within six hours if the weather doesn't get worse again. Please, Dean, let me drive. I promise I won't damage your Jeep." He grinned. "Besides, I've mellowed since Somalia. Danny lets me drive his Camaro all the time. Would he do that if I really drove like a madman?"

Dean gave a slow nod as he pulled up to a gas pump and put the vehicle in park. He turned the key and removed it from the ignition, then plucked his wallet from his back pocket. "I'm gonna use the facilities and get some coffee. This tank of gas is on you, Squid. Use the premium." He turned away and took a step, then turned back. "Heads up." He tossed the keys and Steve caught them. "Fine. You drive. But if you hurt my baby, I will make you pay."

"Not a scratch, I promise." Steve saluted, then got busy filling the tank. He had to admit, the devotion his friend felt for the old vehicle amused him. The Jeep had to be from the '70s… maybe even the late '60s. Sure, it had done an admirable job getting them through the storm, but it looked like it was on its last legs… er… wheels. To Steve, it seemed like an earth-bound version of Tangerine — he would not have been surprised if he'd found chickens roosting under the seats. Once he filled up, he pulled into a parking spot near the front door of the travel store to wait for Barlow. He felt better now that he was behind the wheel, as if he had reclaimed some modicum of control over the search for his best friend. Five minutes later, he was steering Barlow's baby down the on-ramp, back onto southbound I-25, and Barlow was already snoring in the passenger seat.

The snowfall continued, though it was much lighter here and was not accumulating on the road. As soon as they were clear of Pueblo, Steve pushed the speed up. The speed limit was 75, and in any other vehicle he figured he could swing 85 or even 90 without risk of getting pulled over. But once he edged the speedometer to a little over 65, Barlow's baby started into a disconcerting wobble, forcing Steve to ease off the gas. He muttered a curse but slowed until the wobble stopped, thankful that the shaking hadn't wakened his friend. At least they were going much faster than the blizzard had allowed.

After they passed through Trinidad, about eight a.m., the Interstate wound its way up into the Sangre de Cristo mountains. Steve resisted slowing, but before long, the curves and the incline forced him down to about 55. This reduction in speed may well have saved Steve and Barlow's lives.

The entire incident really was a fluke, one that Steve would never fully remember. While accidents involving vehicles and wildlife could happen any time of the year, they were more common in November than in January and usually happened around dusk or dawn rather than at midday. As he yawned and blinked hard, attempting to stave off the drowsiness that suddenly tugged at his eyelids, Steve spotted a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. _Was that… a bear?! _He instinctively swerved, then swerved again to avoid hitting the minivan in the oncoming lane. He fought to regain control of the wheel, but it was already too late. Barlow's baby spun 180 degrees before pitching left and rolling twice, landing upside down in a snowy patch on the side of the road.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Dean Barlow cussed as a sharp jolt ripped him out of a sound sleep. He hadn't expected he would sleep well with Mad McGarrett at the wheel, but the stress of the long night's drive on slick roads had wiped him out. He wasn't sure how long they'd been driving since he'd conked out, but he didn't really have the luxury of thinking about it, because he'd awakened to Steve screaming something about a bear and his Jeep doing a 180, and then suddenly they were upside down on the side of the road and Dean was hanging there, thankful for the roll bar and the shoulder-harness he'd installed in place of the original lap belts, watching as an upside-down trio of deer bounded away into the woods. "Some bear, Squid," he growled as he glanced over at Steve. Until that moment, he'd been just about ready to kill his friend. His anger quickly gave way to concern. "Steve? Steve!"

Evidently, the Navy SEAL had not considered the shoulder harness necessary, because he wasn't wearing it. Instead of being suspended from his seat, as Dean was, he lay crumpled and unconscious on the Jeep's ripped soft top. Dean wasn't sure if his head had struck the steel roll bar or the jagged rock that had caused the tear — from the blood that stained the snow creeping in through the rip, he figured it was probably the rock. At least the old Jeep Dean had inherited from his father earlier that year seemed to be in decent shape. The roll bar had done its job well, protecting the Jeep and its occupants — well, at least the one smart enough to wear the seat belt — from any serious damage.

Confident that he was uninjured, Dean's first move was to pull his phone from his pocket, though he knew that service on this strip of I-25 was spotty at best. As he suspected, he had no signal. But if he could get Steve's sat phone from the pouch on his belt, he could call for an ambulance. He braced himself with one arm but found the seat belt was jammed — he couldn't get it open. Just as he was reaching for his pocketknife to cut himself free, he heard a Texas drawl at the window. "Y'all a' right in there?!"

Dean looked through the window at a pair of scuffed cowboy boots and two jeans-clad legs. "I'm just a little shook up, but my buddy's hurt pretty bad. Can you help me get out? I can't get the belt undone."

The door was pulled open and a slim man knelt in the snow so Dean could finally see his upper half. Warm brown eyes set in a wrinkled mahogany face peered in at him. "You sure you ain't hurt? You can move everything?"

"Fingers and toes, arms and legs, yessir," Dean confirmed, wiggling those fingers to prove his words. "I just can't get myself free of this confounded harness. Damn buckle's jammed."

"Well, I a'ready got help comin'. Prob'ly shouldn't move your friend till the paramedics check you out, but I can get you out." He flicked open a serrated utility knife. "You jus' brace yourself so you don't fall on your head. This knife'll cut through that belt like butter."

Tex, as Dean had dubbed their rescuer until he knew better, had the belt cut in less than a minute, then helped Dean out the door. He grasped Dean's hand in a firm grip that belied his age and pulled him to his feet. Dean smiled and clapped him on the back, then shook his hand. "Thank you, sir." He bent down again to retrieve his first aid kit from the glove compartment. "Pardon me… I need to check on my friend."

The man's frosty eyebrows bunched up as he scowled. "Like I said, best not move him, young man."

Dean nodded. "Yessir, I know. I'm just going to get his vitals. I'm not a paramedic or an EMT, but I've had some medic training in the army. I know what to do for him till the professionals get here."

"Well a'right then. I'll stick around, see if y'all need any more help. Name's Duke Monroe. I own a ranch just outside Raton."

Raton? Dean could have sworn the fellow was from Texas, but he supposed it wasn't important now. "Dean Barlow." As he spoke, he moved around to the driver's side of the Jeep. "Sure glad to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were different."

Dean pulled the door open and then knelt to look in at Steve. He agreed with Monroe — best not to move him in case he had a back or neck injury. He unfolded the emergency blanket from the first aid kit and spread it over Steve, then checked his pulse. Steve was still unconscious, but his vitals were stable. The temperature was dropping, and the snow was starting to come down harder, so Dean really hoped the ambulance would arrive soon. He wasn't sure exactly where they were on Raton Pass, whether they were still in Colorado or had crossed into New Mexico. Steve would be pissed if they had to backtrack. Thankfully, he was in no shape to argue.

It took less than 10 minutes before they heard the sirens, an ambulance followed by a couple of slick Harley Davidsons emblazoned with the New Mexico State Police logo. Dean was grateful Duke had stayed with him. Though he had escaped serious injury, he felt sore from being jerked about in the wreck and he could feel his muscles beginning to stiffen. He was shaky, too. Once he had the all-clear from the paramedics and had given his report of events to the police officer, he was glad to accept Duke's offer of a ride to Raton, which he said was less than 10 miles away.

By the time Steve was bundled onto the gurney, he was starting to come around, though he was clearly confused. "Ya gotta get th' license 'n ID fer that bear, off'cer," Dean heard him telling the policewoman as he was strapped in and covered up with a yellow blanket. "Damn thing was righ' in th' middle o' th' road. Tha's dang'rous!"

Dean stifled a laugh. At this point, Steve had no memory of flipping the jeep, but he sure as hell remembered the bear that was never there. "I'm ready to go, Mr. Monroe," he said, as one of the paramedics closed up the ambulance and gave two brisk raps to the back end. "Officer Martinez says they'll get a towing company out here to flip the jeep and bring it to a shop in Raton for me, so if you can just get me to the hospital, I'll be grateful."

Monroe clapped him on the shoulder and pointed him to an old blue Ford pickup parked on the shoulder. "Call me Duke. Your friend is liable to have to stay overnight, ya know. We've got a comfortable guest room and the Missus'd have my hide if I didn't offer it to you and bring you home for supper. Do me a favor and don't make me tell her you refused."

Dean snorted. "Stay overnight? Unless Steve has changed radically since we served together, by the time he gets to the hospital he'll be telling anyone who will listen that he's fine and he's not going to waste his time lying around taking up a bed when there's work to be done."

Monroe laughed. "Well, at least join us for dinner. If your friend talks 'em into lettin' him go, he'll need feedin' too, and there ain't nothin' my Sadie likes better'n feedin' a buncha hungry men. Mechanic'll need time with that Jeep of yours anyway."

Dean nodded, then opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. "All right, Duke. You're on. Thanks again."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

When Lou had suggested that Jerry use the GPS data showing the locations of Danny's sat phone over the past couple of weeks to triangulate his most likely path, Jerry hadn't bothered to correct him, though he'd wanted to. "Trilateration," he muttered once he was alone. "That's what it's called. Trilateration uses distances. Triangulation uses angles." But Lou didn't want that sort of technical information. Lou just wanted to find Danny and get him home. Jerry did too, so he figured it didn't matter what Lou called it so long as the end result was rescuing Danny.

Working late into last night, Jerry had plotted the path Danny's cell phone had traveled and used that plus the times of the phone calls to narrow down the possibilities to three merchant vessels sailing the Trans-Pacific passage. The first was a ship called the Anamaria, which sailed under a Venezuelan flag. The second was the New Frontier, which flew the South African flag. The third, the Santa Teresa, sailed under Colombia's flag.

Jerry had done his homework on all three ships, but the information he had learned had not helped much. Based on the evidence, he knew Lou would say they could take the Santa Teresa off the list. On paper, at least, her captain, an American named Carter Nicholson, was above suspicion, his record squeaky clean except for a few traffic violations when he when he was a teenager. He sure didn't seem like the sort of man who would harbor a kidnap victim and his captors on board his ship. The captain of the New Frontier was a Dutch fellow by the name of De Vries. He had racked up multiple charges of drug smuggling and had a reputation for avarice. He'd been convicted on one of those charges and spent five years in prison before he managed to get his sentence overturned on a technicality. The Anamaria's captain, a Venezuelan named Russo, was slippery as an eel. He'd been brought up on charges of human trafficking more than once, but each time had managed to worm his way out of it. What's more, he had connections with a Russian mob boss Danny had taken down when he was still in New Jersey.

Jerry leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he considered the information he'd found. He held a ballpoint pen in one hand, and his thumb kept clicking the button at the end.

"You wanna cut that out and tell me what you got, Jer?"

He hadn't even heard Lou come in. He swiveled his chair around, only to find that Tani and Junior were there too. "Hi, guys. Um… I've got it narrowed down to three possible ships. And I'm pretty sure I know which one we should check first."

Lou made an expansive gesture with his hand. "Well then, start talkin'."

Jerry explained about the three ships and the men who captained them, pulling up the relevant information for them to view on his computer screen. When he had presented the possibilities, he finished up with, "And so I think we need to check the Santa Teresa first."

Lou's brow furrowed. "Those other two fellows look more likely to me. I think we need to go after Russo. He has motive, and next to him, your man Nicholson's a choir boy."

"Just because he looks like a choirboy doesn't mean he is one," Jerry countered. "He could just be more careful about covering his tracks."

Lou pursed his lips and nodded a grudging concession. "Could be. But I think it's more likely we'll find Danny on one of the other two ships. Those should be our priority." His glance flicked to Tani and Junior. "I'm willing to entertain other opinions."

"I agree with Lou," Tani said. "Based on their profiles, De Vries and Russo are the most likely to be involved in a kidnapping, and Russo has motive. If they don't pan out, we can focus on Nicholson."

Junior bit his lip and shook his head. "I don't know. I get what you're saying, Captain, but I've learned to trust Jerry's instincts. I think we need to look at Nicholson. Jerry, do you know where these ships are headed and when they're due into port?"

Jerry flashed Junior a grateful smile. "This is another reason I think we need to look at Nicholson. The Anamaria and the New Frontier are both headed for Sydney, but Nicholson is taking the Santa Teresa to Port Moresby. Over the last few years, Papua New Guinea has been bouncing between the Tier 2 and Tier 3 watchlists for human trafficking. We're not likely to get much official support there. Australia is much more likely to cooperate with us in a search, if we can give them sufficient reason to believe a kidnap victim might be aboard."

Lou frowned. "You know Steve ain't gonna go for that. He's gonna want to search every inch of each of those ships himself. When are they due into port?"

Jerry checked his notes. "Anamaria and New Frontier are three days out of Sydney now; Santa Teresa is due in Port Moresby in four days."

His brow furrowed, Lou sucked in a deep breath, then let it out in a long exhale. "All right, then. I'll talk with my contacts in Sydney and let them know about our suspicions. They can arrange to board and search the Anamaria and the New Frontier as soon as they dock. Jerry, you call Steve with an update. Last I heard from him, he and his pal Dean Barlow were stopped in Pueblo, about to head south and try to get a flight home out of Albuquerque. I'm guessing he'll want to change those plans and travel to Sydney as soon as he can. Junior, get your SEAL buddies on standby. We may need their help with this one. And Tani, the Governor wants an update. Let's get crackin', folks."

"Yessir." As Grover, Tani, and Junior hurried out to make their calls, Jerry swiveled his chair around to pick up his phone from the window ledge. He dialed Steve's number, put the phone on speaker mode, and waited for the boss to pick up.

The phone rang twice and then the call was answered, but Steve didn't say anything at first. Instead, Jerry heard the sound of something clattering onto metal and then Steve shouting something about a bear and then "I'm jus' fine! Lemme up an' I'll prove it to ya!" His words slurred and he sounded confused.

Just as Jerry was about to call Grover back, a woman's voice came over the line, slightly breathless. "This is Paramedic Jenna MacIntosh speaking. I'm sorry, but Mr. McGarrett is not able to speak on the phone just now."

In the background, Steve was still complaining. "Dimme th' phone, gammit," and then he laughed. _What the hell?! Is he drunk?! _

"Ma'am?! What's going on there?" Jerry asked.

"I'm sorry, are you family?"

Jerry's eyes rolled in exasperation. He didn't hesitate with his answer. "Of course I'm family." He wasn't lying. The 5-0 team were ohana and everyone knew it. Blood had nothing to do with it. Of course, he knew that's not what the paramedic meant, but he needed answers and he intended to get them. "I'm Agent Jerry Ortega of Hawaii Five 0," he explained, attempting to lace his tone with a bit of steel. "And you need to tell me exactly what happened to Steve, Ms. MacIntosh." While he was speaking, he fired off a text to Lou Grover. _Capn U nd cm bak n hr ths._

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ortega," the paramedic responded. "All I can tell you is that Mr. McGarrett has been in an accident and is being transported to Miner's Colfax Medical Center in Raton, New Mexico. I suggest you contact the hospital in a few hours and provided they can verify your identity and relationship to the victim, they can give you the infor — Damn!"

Jerry heard another clattering, then the sound of someone scrabbling about, and he assumed she'd dropped the phone. He listened wide-eyed as Steve ranted about a bear and Jenna MacIntosh tried to calm him down. "Sir, it's all right Sir! There are no bears here!"

About that time, Lou walked back in, in the middle of his own rant about young folk these days and their damn text talk. Jerry glanced up at him, put a finger to his lips, then gestured to the phone, which was still on speaker mode.

"Lemme talk t' Jerry!" Steve slurred out. "Grea' big teddy bear Jer… Don' know what he was doin' on th' road… Gimme th' phone!"

"What the hell is goin' on?!" Lou hissed.

"Steve was in an accident. Apparently, he's on the way to a hospital in Raton, New Mexico. Paramedic won't tell me anything else, though."

"If I give it to you, will you promise to calm down?" Jenna McIntosh was using that practiced soothing tone Jerry figured all first responders must learn in training. The one that says _Yes, I know you're in danger of bleeding out but just be calm and everything will be fine _without using those words.

"Scou's honor." Jerry could picture Steve making the two-fingered salute in his mind's eye. At this point, he was pretty sure that Steve was going to be OK, even if he was a bit… well… loopy at the moment. Jerry knew he wouldn't have been drinking and driving, so his bet was on a concussion. Or maybe they gave him some heavy pain meds. He shook his head in disbelief, his eyes meeting Grover's. _This is the last thing we need to deal with right now._

"Mr. Ortega? Are you still there?" The Paramedic again.

"Yes, I'm here. Can I talk to him now?"

"Yes. I'll hold the phone to his ear. If you could encourage him to cooperate, I'd be grateful."

Jerry stifled a laugh as he watched Captain Grover's eyebrows shoot up. "Um… we've been trying to do that for years, Ms. MacIntosh. No success yet."

A second later he heard Steve's drowsy voice. "Hey, Jer… Jer Bear… huh, ya know, that rhymes."

Jerry leaned forward in his seat, scowling slightly at the new nickname. "Hey, Steve. Captain Grover's here with me. What happened? Can you tell me?"

"Bear 'tacked Barlow's baby an' now I'm gonna hafta pay," Steve intoned solemnly. "Why'd ya do it, Jer Bear?"

Grover snorted and Jerry glared at him. _Great. I'm never going to live this down. _

"Listen, Steve," Grover said, "We'll contact the hospital and I'll be on the next flight out to meet you there. You just do what the doctor says and you'll be fine."

"Yeah, Lou… OK… got it… jus'..."

"Just what, Commander?"

"Jus' watch out fer bears!"

Lou snickered as the line went dead, and Jerry knew what was coming. When this was all over, he was going to find a way to get Steve back for this. "Well, you heard him, Jer Bear. Go update Junior and Tani and get me on a flight to Albuquerque."


End file.
